


Grow Up

by stellarose_pictureshow



Category: MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarose_pictureshow/pseuds/stellarose_pictureshow
Summary: Gerard is a troubled student. By senior year, his father has just died, his brother is shunning him, and he’s lacking friends. Things only get worse when he falls for Frank Iero, the school’s guidance counselor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Three days until.**

Gerard checked the slip of paper in his hand. _Room 109_. The guidance counselor’s office.

Due to his father’s death, Gerard didn’t start his senior year of school until October.

Then, when he got there, everyone started treating him like some charity case. He couldn’t walk through the halls without receiving at least a dozen sympathetic glances. And he hated it.

Why was what went on in Gerard’s family anyone else’s business?

Usually when Gerard was angry about something, he went straight to Mikey. But Mikey wasn’t an option anymore, because when Gerard had decided to skip out on their father’s funeral, Mikey promptly shunned him. So recently, he stayed inside his own head.

Before Gerard could fully step through the doors on his first day back, the principal intercepted him. They had an odd moment of eye contact. Gerard’s left eye hid behind a lock of his jet black hair, and during the stare-off, he was infinitely grateful that he didn’t have to look at Mr. Urie with both eyes.

“Hello, Mr. Urie,” he began slowly. He knew the look in Mr. Urie’s eye. He was about to hear yet another “Sorry for your loss.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Brendon Urie said. His mousy hair stuck up in a quiff, which Gerard found a bit inappropriate for a high school principal. “We’re so glad to have you and your brother back. Would you step into my office for a moment?”

Gerard followed Mr. Urie into his office. Colorful knick-knacks overflowed every shelf, and a lopsided framed degree hung directly above Mr. Urie’s head when he sat down at his desk.

Mr. Urie took a pen from a cup on his desk and began writing on a small slip of paper. Gerard tried to see what he was writing, but a row of knick-knacks blocked his view. For a moment, he fantasized about taking his right arm and swiping the entire row of knick-knacks to the floor, just so he didn’t have to see them anymore. He probably could get away with it. After all, his father had just died. They couldn’t suspend him, could they?

Gerard had his arm raised to the knick-knacks when Mr. Urie lifted his head again.

“Listen,” Mr. Urie said. “I know you’ve had time to mourn and all, but transitioning back into school with that on your mind is still tough.”

Gerard hadn’t been thinking too hard about the fact that his father was dead until Mr. Urie mentioned it. Great.

“We have a new guidance counselor this year. His name is Mr. Iero.” Mr. Urie reached over and handed Gerard a slip of paper with a room number on it. “He actually graduated college two years early, so he’s young. Twenty-three, I think. You might be able to relate to him more.”

Gerard took the slip and held it in both hands. He didn’t want it. His mother tried to make him go to therapy before, and it sucked. For Gerard, sitting in the same spot for over an hour was torture. It was even worse when he had to spend that time talking about his feelings.

“Thanks,” Gerard said, pushing a smile and looking at the slip.

Mr. Urie adjusted his red tie and sat up. “Listen, Gerard, I want you to visit him before you go to your classes today. Get to know him. For a while, I want this to be a daily thing.”

“You want me to miss my classes for that?” It was the only passive aggressive comment Gerard could think of that wouldn’t get him in trouble.

“It’s your senior year,” Mr. Urie said, not fooled at all. “You’ve got quite a few study halls on your schedule. I checked.”

“Alright,” Gerard said. He stood up. “Thank you, sir.”

When he was back in the hallway, Gerard read the slip of paper again. _Room 109_. Where was it? While he hated the idea of talking to a school counselor, it was still better than going to class.

The guidance counselor’s office was in a dingy, poorly-lit corner of the school. Gerard felt like a comic book character going on a quest. All he needed was some secret superpower.

He looked down at the paper one last time to make sure this was the correct room. Then he looked up and read the nameplate on the door: Mr. Frank Iero. He sighed heavily and pushed the door open.

Mr. Iero sat at his desk, only he hadn’t noticed Gerard come in. He was absorbed in some book. Gerard squinted to read the title. _The Catcher in the Rye_.

For a moment, Gerard didn’t say anything. He wasn’t one to talk more than necessary, and he figured Mr. Iero would look up any second now. After looking at Mr. Iero for a while, Gerard realized he had tattoos on his neck, only they were poorly covered with some sort of makeup. Gerard knew that the types of people with tattoos on places like their neck had tattoos _everywhere_ , so he couldn’t help but wonder what other ink Mr. Iero had.

After a minute, Frank Iero had flipped through about a dozen pages and still hadn’t looked up, so Gerard took it upon himself to speak.

“That book,” Gerard began, and Frank jumped about a thousand feet in the air. He slammed the book shut and looked at Gerard like he was a ghost. Gerard pretended not to notice. “Is it your first time reading that? We read that freshman year. You’re kind of behind.”

“No,” Frank said slowly. He began to collect himself. “I’ve read it plenty of times before. It’s just my favorite book.”

“Cool,” Gerard said.

Frank’s hazel eyes seemed to twinkle. “Are you Gerard Way?”

Gerard nodded.

“Oh, great. I was expecting you. Mr. Urie and I had a little chat. Do you know why you’re here?”

Gerard began to laugh, but then he noticed Mr. Iero’s neutral expression. He wasn’t joking.

“My father is dead,” Gerard said. He didn’t know why Mr. Iero was making him say it. “He died because he was a drunk driver, and that’s kind of a stupid way to die. But he’s dead. Been dead. Very, very dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Iero said, only it was very, very monotone, like he was reading from a script.

“It’s okay,” Gerard decided to say, even though he knew Mr. Iero didn’t really mean what he said. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it now. We’ve just got to move on with our lives.”

Mr. Iero sat back in his chair. His hair was short and brown, and he had to keep pushing it back every few minutes. Gerard watched this from a slight distance. He was still standing. Mr. Iero hadn’t asked him to sit.

All of Mr. Iero’s features seemed etched, like someone had carefully carved his face, like a Greek statue. Gerard’s fingers itched for a pencil as he imagined sketching Frank Iero’s perfectly narrow nose, and the small indent that looked to be a scar between his eyebrows.

“You sound very… accepting of what happened. That’s good. That shows you’re strong. Do you miss him at all, though?”

“Well, duh,” said Gerard. He’d started to pace in circles around the small office. “He’s my dad.”

As Gerard paced, Mr. Iero opened his laptop and did some clicking until he reached something.

“Do you have a brother?”

“I do,” Gerard confirmed. As he paced, he played with his hands. “He doesn’t talk to me anymore, though. He stopped talking to me after I didn’t go to the funeral.”

“You didn’t go to the-”

A loud ringing sound cut through the room. Gerard halted in place, and Frank closed his mouth and decided not to continue his sentence.

“I think I have to go to class now,” Gerard said. He didn’t really know if that was true, but he was dying to get out his sketchbook. He had the perfect mental image of what he wanted to draw, and he didn’t want to lose it.

“Oh, alright,” Mr. Iero said. He frowned slightly. “See you at this time tomorrow, right?”

“It seems that way,” Gerard said in a neutral tone, leaving it up to Mr. Iero to decide whether the statement was negative or positive.

Without another word, Gerard left.

 

-  
It was an hour later when Frank Iero heard a knock at his office door.

He’d been oddly interested in Gerard. Gerard seemed to be a unique soul, with a complicated mind. People like that were effortlessly interesting. Frank looked forward to getting to know him better.

Frank was disappointed to see a black-haired woman walk through his door.

She wore a black blazer and a blacker knee-length skirt that swished as she walked. A dozen bracelets jingled on both of her arms, which Frank found himself getting annoyed by already.

“Hello,” he said, sitting up at his desk. “May I help you?”

“Hello,” the woman replied with a smile. Her eyes were bright green, and her black hair paired with her pale skin made her look almost like a vampire. A slightly aged vampire. If Frank had to guess her age, he’d say she was almost thirty.

“May I help you?” Frank repeated. He forced a smile.

She walked up to his desk and extended her arm. “I’m Jamia Nestor. I teach English upstairs. I know it’s a little late in the year already, but I just wanted to welcome you to our school.”

Frank took her hand and shook it. He laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, just a little late.”

Jamia laughed along with him. “I’m sorry. I would’ve introduced myself earlier, really, but they put you in this abandoned corner of the school and everything. I didn’t know where to find you.”

“Well, you know now,” Frank said. He hoped it hadn’t come off as passive aggressive as it sounded in his head.

Her eyes traced the spots where his tattoos were. He noticed. The tattoos were usually covered with makeup, and today was no exception, but a lot of people seemed to notice them anyway today. Maybe he hadn’t done such a good covering job.

Without any warning, she sat herself on his desk. She’d simply hoisted herself up, with no question or hesitation about it. Frank could only watch from his seat, paralyzed with confusion. If she was trying to make herself seem more attractive, it wasn’t working.

“I think we would make good friends,” Jamia said softly, almost like a purr. “Want to go out for a coffee later, or something? My treat.”

Frank had to do a double take. The whole exchange had escalated so quickly, he felt like he had whiplash. But if Frank was terrible at one thing, it was saying no. It was much too strong of a word, even if others couldn’t see exactly how strong it was.

“Sure,” he said.

“Perfect.” She drummed her manicured nails on his desk and looked off. Something about her confidence was almost endearing, in a way, but at the same time, Frank wanted to push her out of his office and never see her again.

-

“Hey, loser!”

Gerard slammed his locker shut and looked behind him. He knew that voice. It was the same one that had taunted him every school year since fifth grade. By this point, Gerard learned to respond to “loser” just like he would his own name.

“Hey, Bert,” Gerard said as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and looked directly into the eyes of Bert McCracken.

It was the end of the school day, and the hallways were quickly clearing out. Everyone knew what was happening, because Bert was incredibly loud, but nobody cared enough to stick around. After a few years, Bert’s habit of constantly harassing Gerard Way had gotten old. Not to Bert, though.

If one were to think of a typical schoolyard bully in any cheesy 80’s movie, they’d get Bert: greasy dark hair, wide shoulders, not too tall, kind of fat, etc., etc.

“Dead dad, huh?” Bert said. He walked with Gerard, who was heading for the stairwell, so he could go downstairs, leave the school, and begin his walk home. Gerard’s walk home was never fun. Too many busy roads. He didn’t know how he wasn’t dead yet.

“Yup.” Gerard didn’t care about what Bert said anymore. There was once a point in which Gerard would come home crying every day, but that was sixth grade, and far worse things had happened to him since then for him to worry about a stupid bully.

“I’m going to keep it real with you,” Bert began. “Drunk drivers deserve to die. What if he killed somebody else? It’s good he died before he could cause any more harm.”

That one hurt. Gerard reached the stairwell and pushed open its doors, racking his brain for a good response. It was difficult to find one, because he was concentrating too much on covering up how hurt he was. Though he’d harassed Gerard nearly every day for years, and though the act itself had gotten quite boring, Bert knew how to serve low, hurtful blows.

“Well,” Gerard said. He looked down at his feet, so he wouldn’t miss a stair and slip or something. “You believe what you want to believe.”

Bert gave Gerard a bit of a shove, and he stumbled over the remaining steps. “It’s the truth. Your dad deserved to die. Fuckface.”

Gerard pushed through another set of doors, and they were outside. “At least my dad loved me,” Gerard said as he made his way to the sidewalk. “If I were your dad, I’d kill myself.”

Bert laughed. He had a car and Gerard didn’t, so Gerard’s harassment always stopped in the parking lot every day. “That wasn’t even a good insult, dumbass!”

Bert’s voice called after Gerard, but Gerard had already walked a good distance away, so Bert wasn’t sure whether Gerard heard it or not.

It would’ve been simple to take another exit out of the school. It would’ve been simple to move to a different locker, so Bert wouldn’t see where he was, and it would’ve been so simple to simply tell Bert to fuck off.

But Gerard did none of those things.

He knew he had the option to, because he wasn’t stupid, and yet, he was stupid enough to allow himself to continue getting insulted every day.

Gerard knew if he was assertive enough, and if one day he just went up to Bert and said “Hey, fuck off,” Bert would probably stop. Bert McCracken went after easy targets, and Gerard, someone who had never been one to fight back in any situation, was a very easy target.

Though Bert was a hurtful scumbag who had no limits in trying to upset someone like Gerard, Gerard never had many friends, and Bert, someone who Gerard spoke and walked with every school day, was the closest thing Gerard had to a friend. Besides Mikey. And he didn’t even have Mikey anymore.

It was pathetic, Gerard knew, but it wasn’t like he liked Bert himself, because truly, he didn’t hate anyone more than Bert.

He was just lonely, and it always felt like nobody cared, and if Bert cared enough to acknowledge his existence every day, even though it was for the wrong reasons, Bert still cared. As long as Gerard had that, he at least had something.

 

-

Gerard tiptoed past his mother, who slept soundly on the living room sofa, and crept upstairs to his bedroom. After his father’s death, Gerard’s mother did a lot of sleeping. It was an odd way of mourning, Gerard always thought, but it wasn’t like skipping the funeral was a better way.

He dug through his closet until he found a presentable flannel, and then the ugly green Starbucks apron.

He didn’t know how he felt about work. It wasn’t a difficult job. Gerard knew how to make coffee, plus, he was good at it. Also, Lindsey, his manager, was one of the sweetest, warmest people in the world. Dedicating himself to an after-school job was difficult, though, especially when some days, all he wanted to do was go home and collapse into bed.

As he got dressed, Gerard heard footsteps coming upstairs, and his heart ached when he realized it must’ve been Mikey. He wondered whether Mikey would ever speak to him again. It wasn’t like they could go the rest of their lives without speaking, right?

Flannel and apron clad, Gerard took one quick look in the mirror that hung from his bedroom door before leaving for work. It would be a long walk.

-

“I enjoyed spending time with you today, Frank. I really did.”

Frank, still in his work clothes, forced a smile for what felt like the millionth time. He leaned back in his white cushioned chair and brought a mug of coffee to his lips. Of course, he was only doing this to get his six dollars’ worth. He’d never had coffee that tasted this horrible, ever.

Right before the bell rang, Jamia had forced herself into Frank’s office once more, and announced that she knew just the place for them to go.

A hole in the wall café wasn’t Frank’s ideal “place to go,” but he simply wasn’t one to argue much, and he didn’t even want to go with Jamia in the first place, so what would it matter if he added another layer of horribleness on top of it?

“This was an interesting way to spend my evening,” Frank said when he noticed Jamia was waiting for a response. “Thank you for paying.”

Jamia sat across from him in a black cushioned chair.

She winked at him. “Any time.”

God, he was uncomfortable. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for in a partner, but it wasn’t this. He hoped Jamia knew that.

“I better get going. The repair man’s coming to my house soon, and I need to be there beforehand,” Frank said, standing up from his armchair, rambling as he spoke. He often rambled when he lied…and when he was nervous...and when he was angry. He rambled a lot.

For a moment, Jamia’s face betrayed exactly how she was feeling. Her eyes cast downward, and her entire face fell in a sense of disappointment. It only lasted for a second, though. Then her flirtatious expression was back.

“Bye, Frankie,” she said, and took a sip of her own coffee. He thought she might’ve stood, at the very least, to say goodbye. But she didn’t. She sat and watched him over the rim of her coffee mug until he turned and left.

 

Frank stepped into his shitty Ford and decided that he deserved some good-tasting coffee, goddamn it.

The nearest Starbucks was minutes away, and if Frank went a couple miles over the speed limit, he could get there before closing time, so that’s exactly what he did.

 

Gerard was tired. He was so, so very tired. Usually, since he was the only one on his shift, he had to run the cash register and make drinks at the same time. Most days, this was a struggle, but not tonight. There hadn’t been a single customer in over an hour. Since no one was there, Lindsey told him to clean some supplies. He spent thirty minutes cleaning, and then, still, no customers in sight.

He was genuinely afraid that he’d fall asleep. With nothing to do, falling asleep was too easy. The only thing that kept him awake was the knowledge that he’d get fired if he did anything like that. Lindsey was sweet, but it wouldn’t be her fault if she had to fire someone who fell asleep at the cash register.

Fifteen minutes before closing time, the bell above the shop’s door jingled, and Gerard jolted from his tired state. He was ready to do something with his coffee-making skills one last time before going home for the night.

Immediately, a familiar face came into view.

Gerard didn’t know whether to say anything, because wouldn’t it be awkward to say hi? He didn’t even know Mr. Iero that well. Would it be more awkward if he didn’t say anything at all?

“Gerard?” Mr. Iero said as he stepped into the empty line. “You work here?”

The dress shirt he’d worn to work had gotten slightly wrinkled. The obvious makeup that had covered up his tattoos was now completely wiped off, and Gerard found it hard to look away.

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “It’s a good job. Mostly. What would you like to order?”

Mr. Iero laughed. His eyes rose to the menu. “At first, I knew what I wanted, but now I’m looking at everything, and I kind of want to try that Frappuccino crap. Any suggestions?”

Usually, Gerard hated seeing teachers outside of school, but something about this experience was rubbing him the right way..

Gerard shrugged and smiled a little, because yeah, he had a suggestion. “The vanilla bean frappe with a pump of hazelnut is amazing. It tastes like birthday cake flavor.”

“Birthday cake flavor?” Mr. Iero questioned slowly. He broke into a smile. “Count me in.”

 

.  
Drink in hand, Frank watched as Gerard cleaned up for the night.

“The nearest houses are kind of far from here. That’s a lot of gas. What kind of car do you drive?” Frank asked when Gerard had locked the counter gates and was putting away the keys.

Frank hoped this didn’t sound weird, coming from a grown adult. He liked cars. He liked to know what types of cars people drove. He hoped Gerard wouldn’t think it sounded weird.

“I don’t drive,” Gerard said, tossing the keys in his hand. They jingled as they struck each other in his palm. He reached up and hung them on the wall.

“Train, bus?”

“Neither.” Gerard untied his apron and rolled it into a ball in his hand. “I walk.”

“Walk?” Frank sputtered, like he couldn’t believe it. Gerard was sure he was overreacting. “It’s freezing outside.”

“Not like I have much of a choice,” Gerard said, heading for the exit. Frank followed. “My mother’s been terrified of driving, ever since… well, you know.”

Frank was quiet for a moment. They stepped outside, and he was able to feel just how cold it was. A gust of chilly wind stung his nose.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said at once. It might’ve been inappropriate, offering a student a ride, but what else was Frank to do? He felt so bad for the kid. If he let Gerard walk out into the busy streets in ten-degree weather without trying to stop it, that was probably a one-way ticket to hell.

“Seriously?” Was all Gerard said. He was smiling. “You’d do that? I live kind of far from here.”

“Well, I'm not letting you walk, that’s for sure. That’s literally a death march.” Frank clicked a button on his car keys, and the taillights of the only car in the parking lot lit up.

Gerard snorted, then flushed pink and covered his face. Frank rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, Mr. Iero,” Gerard mumbled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short filler chapter in which Frank and Gerard realize their admiration for each other

**Two days until.**

Gerard stepped into Mr. Iero’s office for the second time.

A book was in his lap. His eyes scanned the pages hungrily, and much like last time, he was so engrossed, he didn’t notice Gerard’s presence. It was an awkward few moments. Gerard didn’t want to have to say anything to get his attention. He wasn’t very good with words—even obvious ones, like “Hey, Mr. Iero. I know you love books, but you really should be doing your job right now.”

The tattoos on his neck and hands were no longer visible. He’d put more effort into covering them today. Gerard wished he could see them, because yesterday, he’d sketched the perfect picture of Frank, only it lacked the tattoos it so desperately needed. Gerard knew it was a bit weird to draw someone without their knowledge, but Frank simply had a face that was meant to be drawn. With the perfectly narrow nose, those wide, alert eyes, and that hole under the lip—a lip piercing, perhaps? It was art in itself.

Frank was still submerged in the world of whatever book he was reading, so Gerard had no other choice than to loudly clear his throat.

Frank’s head shot up. He immediately blushed, mumbling an abundance of apologies and slamming the book shut.

“I’ve got to start being more alert,” Frank mumbled to himself as he sat up in his chair and cast a careful gaze on Gerard, who stood on the other side of Frank’s desk. “I’m so sorry.” He thought for a moment before speaking again. “How are you doing, Gerard? How has your morning gone?”

“Well,” Gerard began, still standing. He paused to pick lint off his gray, worn sweatshirt. “I was pushed into a locker this morning. So, not the best, but not the worst, either. How about your morning?”

Frank’s eyes widened. He held a hand up to pause. A hand, Gerard thought to himself, that was covered in tattoos he couldn’t see. “Woah, woah, woah, let’s backtrack. You were pushed into a locker?”

“Yes,” Gerard said. His expression was violently neutral. He neither smiled nor frowned. “It happens quite often. Bert McCracken doesn’t like me very much.”

“We’ve got to tell somebody,” Frank said. “Does Mr. Urie know about this?”

Gerard’s face fell. His hands balled and unballed. “No, and no. Telling somebody would make things ten times worse. I’m telling you. Don’t do that.”

Me. Iero shook his head. “What do you mean? We’ve got to do something, Gerard. You’re telling me you got pushed into a locker, for God’s sake, and you don’t want me to try and make it stop?”

“Nothing you could possibly do would ever make it stop,” Gerard insisted, returning to his routine of pacing in a circle around the floor. “Unless you, like, killed him. And I don’t want you to do that.”

A heavy sigh escaped Frank’s mouth. He sat back in his swivel chair. “Why’d you tell me this, then? Now I’ll have this on my conscience all day. What if you get seriously hurt?” He paused. “This is just like last night, when you wanted to walk miles in the cold. Miles, for God’s sake. Do you have a deathwish?”

Gerard laughed. 

“I’m serious,” Frank said. “You’ve got this pattern of self-destructive tendencies that I want to help you with.” His hazel eyes widened a bit, and Gerard stared. With the perfect oil paints, Gerard could portray those eyes excellently on a canvas. Maybe he’d actually do it.

For the first time in Mr. Iero’s office, Gerard took a seat. It was another black swivel chair, identical to the one Frank sat in. Very uncomfortable. Very stiff. Probably unused. 

“Not all of the decisions I make are single-layered,” Gerard began slowly, eyeing Frank all the while.“There are reasons for the things I do, and not, like, because I want to hurt myself, because I don’t. I’m mainly just trying to cater to my inner desires. I am not self-destructive.”

“Are you sure?” Frank responded instantly, which irked Gerard a little. Gerard had taken a few moments to choose his words carefully, and it seemed Frank had simply rejected all of them. “What about… Bert McCrackle, is it? Why continue to let him bother you?”

Gerard didn’t waste time correcting him. “I told you, having the principal go after him or something would just make him angrier. And besides, he doesn’t bother me too much.”

Frank looked baffled. He went a few moments without speaking, leaving Gerard to stare down at his hands until he got a response. Gerard almost regretted saying anything. It felt stupid, talking about Bert aloud to anyone besides Mikey. 

“How doesn’t he bother you that much?” Frank asked. “Bothering you—as you said—frequently?”

“Maybe you just kind of get used to it,” Gerard said. He’d gone back to picking lint off his sweatshirt, with his shoulder-length hair hanging in his face. and his voice came out as a half-mumble. “And maybe..”

“Maybe..?”

Gerard blushed and looked off. “Maybe it’s nice having someone to talk to.” He knew Frank would think he was crazy, so he tried to back his case. “You know how my brother doesn’t talk to me anymore? Bert is kind of all I have right now.”

Frank was stunned into silence for the second time that hour. Gerard watched, red-faced, as Frank touched his lip-piercing hole and thought of something to say. With the growing silence, regret was quick to fill Gerard’s body. Why did he speak, ever?

Truly, Gerard was a second away from getting up and walking out when Frank finally opened his mouth to speak. 

“I know I’m just the school counselor, but you have me. You are welcome in my office anytime.”

-  
“Oh, my God. I am so _sick_ of grading papers!” Jamia said. Jamia. Because during lunch, she’d barged into Frank’s room, papers in hand, and plopped herself on Frank’s desk. Frank made a half-attempt at listening to her as he read his book and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

“Glad I don’t have that problem,” Frank mumbled as he flipped a page and took a bite of his sandwich. When Jamia began on some long tangent about just how irritating grading was, Frank blocked her out and hoped that Gerard knew he meant it when he said, “You are welcome in my office anytime.”

It was odd, but Frank felt like he could listen to Gerard speak for hours. He had such a mature, intelligent way of talking that was awfully rare among other people his age. What an interesting kid. A bit sad, how Gerard truly didn’t have a friend in the world, but in a way, Frank almost felt like Gerard was too good for friends. A few other students had wandered into his office over the past two months, and none of them were anything like Gerard. Not that Gerard was perfect, like the second coming of Jesus or anything, but if Frank was seventeen, he knew he’d be comparing himself to Gerard. 

The ringing of the period five bell snapped him back into reality. Jamia was reluctant to go. Before she left, she gathered up her papers, leaned over Frank’s desk, and kissed him on the cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**One** **day**   **until.**

The stairwell in the very back of the school building was the best place to be, solely because no one ever went there. Gerard could sit on the dusted-over floor, unbothered, and draw in his sketchbook for hours.

Three days after his return to school, Gerard wasn’t surprised to find himself falling back into the old routine of visiting the stairwell. He started at lunch, and didn’t bother to move when the bell rang for classes. What did it matter, if he showed up or not? He probably wasn’t going to college anyway.

The main subject of Gerard’s sketches had recently become Mr. Iero. His features were simple enough to draw, and conventionally attractive enough to make a decent piece of art. Conventionally attractive, save for the dozens of tattoos and unknown amount of piercings. Never the matter, some people were just meant to be drawn. Gerard liked to live by that philosophy.

Gerard’s peaceful drawing session became short-lived when, twenty minutes after the bell had rung, a loud creaking sound echoed across the stairwell, and it became painfully evident that someone had opened the door.

Gerard, who sat under the stairs, waited with baited breath as the sound of footsteps became increasingly louder. The footsteps continued, continued, and continued. And then they stopped completely. Gerard looked up.

“This has got to be a fucking joke,” Bert McCracken said. He was wearing an oversized striped sweatshirt, and his hair—in all its greasiness—was a nightmare to behold. Gerard had the urge to take a bottle of shampoo and empty the entire thing on Bert’s head.

“What are you doing here?” Gerard hissed. He slammed his sketchbook shut. Bert’s eyes went to it immediately. Gerard pretended not to notice.

“I’ve been coming here to smoke since the beginning of the year,” Bert said impatiently. He dug his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. “So you’re getting the fuck out.”

“ _I’ve_ been coming here since freshman year,” Gerard argued. In an attempt to stand his ground, he remained seated under the staircase, though he hugged his sketchbook to his chest.

Bert sent a glare in Gerard’s direction. “I don’t want to have to do this,” he said in a drawn-out voice. He began to remove his hands from his pockets.

Gerard scoffed. “What are you gonna do? Hit me?” He honestly wouldn’t mind if Bert hit him. That would just mean that he could go back to Mr. Iero, and Gerard could stare at Mr. Iero and memorize more details for his drawings.

There was no response from Bert. A smile played at Gerard’s lips, and he was ready to make another snide remark when Bert reached forward and snatched Gerard’s sketchbook from his arms.

“Hey!” Gerard exclaimed. He jumped up, immediately hitting his head on the stairs above him. Bert had already begun to take off, heading for the exit door behind the stairs. Gerard could only rub his head in agony and run after him.

Bert pushed open the exit door and continued to run, with Gerard not far behind him. Outside, the October air stung their faces and made each of them shiver a bit. It seemed as if the temperature had skipped autumn and went straight to winter. The chase in the cold only lasted for a few feet, until they reached the dumpster.

“What are you doing?” Gerard cried, not caring how loud he was being. The forever stained, foul-smelling dumpster against a similarly stained, foul-smelling brick wall was not where he’d like his sketchbook to end up.

“What does it look like?” Bert responded with a laugh. He was much taller than Gerard, and simply towered over the other boy as he reached up and held the sketchbook over the garbage.

“God, please give it back,” Gerard said. He lifted his hands in surrender. “I’ll let you smoke in there. I will. I’m sorry, okay?”

Bert didn’t respond, and instead lifted the lid of the dumpster with one hand and tossed the sketchbook in the very back of it with the other. It landed somewhere far behind arm’s reach. Gerard’s face fell, and he flinched at the sound of the dumpster lid slamming shut.

-  
“You’re late.”

Gerard could feel the entire class’s eyes on him. His face burned as he stood in the doorway of his English class, unable to move any further, because the teacher was standing directly in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Miss Nestor,” Gerard mumbled. His backpack was starting to get heavy. “It won’t happen again.”

Jamia Nestor pushed a lock of hair behind her ear—bracelets jingling on her right arm as she did so—and stepped out of Gerard’s way. “It really won’t. I don’t tolerate lateness in my classroom. You’d know that if you weren’t absent for the first month of school.”

Gerard, who was making his way to a desk in the back of the classroom, halted in his tracks. He turned to face his teacher, eyebrows raised. “You know my father—”

“I know,” Jamia interrupted him. The class had become silent, so Jamia’s words echoed throughout the classroom and were heard by everyone. “I know, and I don’t care. We don’t play sympathy cards around here.” She watched with scornful eyes as Gerard said nothing in response and continued to go sit down. “You know, my husband died last year, and I hardly missed a week of work.”

Jamia had returned to teaching and other students had resumed their side conversations by the time Gerard finally sat. His first instinct was to reach into his backpack and pull out his sketchbook. What Bert had done had yet to fully sink in. When Gerard thought about it, his hands balled up into fists and his jaw clenched. What right did Bert have, taking something that wasn’t his? And it wasn’t like Gerard was bold enough to sift through the school’s trash to go get it. Gerard’s blood continued to boil as the reality of it all set in.

Without thinking much about it, he raised his hand.

At first, Jamia clearly saw Gerard’s hand in the air and blatantly ignored it. Then, after a minute of it still being there, she sighed defeatedly. “What, Gerard?”

“May I go to guidance?” Everyone around him went dead silent again, and all side conversations stopped immediately. Gerard noticed, but he didn’t care anymore. As long as he was sitting across from Frank Iero in the next five minutes, everything else could go fuck itself.

Jamia’s hard expression melted. “Guidance? You mean… Mr. Iero?”

Risking getting yelled at again, Gerard rolled his eyes. “Is there another guidance counselor in this school?” His feet, Converse clad, began to tap the linoleum floor impatiently. He was thinking about Bert again, and the anger and impatience was becoming too much to bear.

“No, no, there isn’t,” Jamia said. Her arms and shoulders seemed to tense. She let out a short laugh. “I have to ask, is this about what happened earlier? I didn’t mean any of it. You know that, right? It’s the last period of the day, too, so there’s really not much time. To go to Frank—er, Mr. Iero? There’s no need to… there’s just no need!”

The girl sitting in front of Gerard didn’t bother to hide her nosiness and turned to look at him, waiting for his response. The rest of the class followed suit, more or less, and soon enough, nearly every pair of eyes was on Gerard.

He didn’t care. His hands itched for his sketchbook.

“It has nothing to do with that,” he insisted. Jamia’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s a separate issue that I need to deal with right now.”

His tone came out more tight and impatient than he’d expected it to be. So impatient, that it was almost comedic. A few laughs came from around him, but he found it hard to care.

“Alright,” Jamia said. She adjusted the black blazer she was wearing, then the white dress shirt underneath it. “Let me get you a pass.”

-  
Frank Iero’s office door burst open. A familiar face came storming in, anger practically radiating off his body. Frank closed the book he was reading.

“I give you permission to kill him. Do it. Punish him! I don’t care anymore. I don’t need someone to talk to that badly. You have to do _something_ about this.” Gerard didn’t take a seat, and instead fell back into the routine of pacing around Mr. Iero’s office.

Frank didn’t react much. “Bert?” was all he asked.

“Yes,” Gerard said impatiently. Wisps of his dark hair had started falling into his face, but he paid it no mind. “Bert took my sketchbook and threw it into the dumpster.”

Frank rested an elbow on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For God’s sake…”

“Can you help me or not?” Gerard demanded. He still paced around the room. “Can you get Mr. Urie or something? Make Bert pay for what he did? Avenge me? Some sweet revenge on my part?”

Frank’s gaze rested on Gerard. “Which dumpster is it? Is it the one behind the school?”

Gerard nodded.

Frank pushed his chair back and stood. “Come with me, then. We’re going on a field trip.”

-  
“You’ve never been dumpster diving before?”

Gerard was baffled. “What reason would I have to go dumpster diving? What reason would _you_ have?”

Frank ignored him. “Did you see where he threw it?”

“Toward the back. You’re not really going after it, are you? I mean, your outfit’s going to be ruined.” Gerard felt like he couldn’t allow Frank's white dress shirt to be stained. He wore it with a plain black tie, and it seemed to run a little tight, because it came up just before his wrists and accentuated the muscles in his arms.

“Is that why you didn’t go after it?”

“Well, yeah.” Gerard motioned to his legs, which were sporting black cargo pants.

Frank cracked a smile and turned to the giant bin of garbage. Without a moment’s notice, he lifted its lid and hoisted himself up. He disappeared from view.

The smell caught up with Gerard and he gagged from it. As he waited for Frank to return, he pinched his nose. Though the act of sorting through garbage was disgusting in itself, Gerard’s heart ached in a good way, knowing that Frank was doing this for him.

While he was waiting, the final bell rang from inside the school, and Gerard wondered if Bert was waiting by Gerard’s locker around now. How long would he wait? How would he feel about Gerard not showing up?

“Is this it?” Frank’s voice called roughly forty seconds later. His hand came into view, holding up a small, cardstock-covered book that was once neatly off-white. Now, it was an assortment of colors, much thanks to the stains that decorated it.

“Yes!” Gerard said. His voice sounded nasally, because he was still pinching his nose, and couldn’t help but laugh. He had an overwhelming urge to hug Frank or something, because it was such a cool thing, what Frank had done for him, but there were little things weirder than hugging one’s school guidance counselor.

The stains on the cover didn’t really matter. Wet Wipes existed. As long as the drawings were unharmed, Gerard was content. _The drawings_.

“Don’t open it!” Gerard called out suddenly. “It’s private!”

He mentally smacked himself for wording it like that. Now it probably sounded like he drew porn or something.

Frank reappeared seconds later and handed Gerard his book as he stepped out of the dumpster. “Wasn’t planning on reading it, for God’s sake...” He somehow still looked good, even while his white shirt was stained in multiple places.

“Thank you,” Gerard said quietly. He brought his sketchbook to his chest. Some stains rubbed off onto his black sweatshirt. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost this.”

“No problem,” Frank said, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “I’ve got nothing else to do, anyway. My office is a ghost town. Some teachers need a dozen cups of coffee to get through the day, and I only ever need one.”

Gerard let himself laugh, then. . . _coffee_. “Shit!” he exclaimed. “I’m gonna be late for work! I can’t be late again. I’ll be fired. Sorry, Mr. Iero, I have to go—”

“I’ll drive you,” Frank said without thinking much about it. He wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll drive you, no problem. Does your mother need me to tell her where you are? Do you have a phone?”

Gerard felt himself smile. “Nope.”


	4. Chapter 4

“For the last time, Gerard, wake the fuck up!”

Gerard’s eyes shot open. His mother was standing over him, half-dressed. On was her teal nurse’s scrub, paired with gray sweatpants and slippers. Her face was blank and portrayed no obvious emotion, but Gerard could sense she was upset. 

“What’s wrong?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Am I late for school?” Sun was just beginning to seep through the window beside Gerard’s bed. He tried to get a peek at the time, but his mother was standing in front of the alarm clock. 

For a moment, Mrs. Way said nothing. Her mouth opened for her to speak, but she closed it. Then repeated the process several times. Small wrinkles had long ago appeared near her eyes and forehead‒made very obvious with the help of her pale porcelain skin‒but they seemed deeper than Gerard remembered. Gerard watched impatiently as his mother struggled with her words, waiting for any explanation to this abrupt awakening. Eventually, she took a deep breath and looked her oldest son in the eye.

“Mikey tried to kill himself. The ambulance is on its way.”

-  
Frank was worried. Gerard must’ve rubbed off on him in some way, because he found himself pacing in circles around his office. An opened book laid face-down on his otherwise clear desk, as though abandoned abruptly and hastily. The short hand of the clock pointed directly to twelve, indicating it was halfway through lunchtime. Gerard always showed up at his door before lunch.

His feet seemed to have a mind of their own. They carried Frank out of his office, through the hallway, and eventually to Mr. Urie’s door.

The door to the principal’s office was wide open. In sat Mr. Urie himself, at his desk, lunch in hand. He wasn’t very preoccupied, and noticed Frank’s presence immediately.

“Frank! I wasn’t expecting company. Come in, come in,” Mr. Urie said, motioning to Frank with his sandwich. “How are you doing? How’s Belleville High treating you?”

Frank stood still in the doorway. “I just have a question,” he said, waving a hand and forcing a laugh. “I’m not here to bother you for too long, don’t worry.”

“Bother me? Oh, that’s nonsense! Please, come in.”

“Okay, uh…” Frank stepped one foot into Mr. Urie’s office. He’d been in here before. Between the shelves upon shelves of knick-knacks, and Mr. Urie’s general disregard for neatness, it wasn’t a place Frank liked to stay in for very long. “Is Gerard Way in school today? I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Gerard Way…” Mr. Urie murmured to himself. He clicked his tongue and reached for his laptop, which sat at the very edge of his cluttered desk. “Is he here today? Let’s see…”

“He usually comes to my office every day, you see, and it was weird that he didn’t show up today,” Frank rambled as he watched Mr. Urie log onto his computer. He smoothed down his shirt. “I don’t know, Mr. Urie, it was just kind of weird, for God’s sake.”

“Call me Brendon,” was all Mr. Urie had in response to Frank’s tangent. He adjusted his navy blue tie and looked up at Frank from the computer. “The attendance list says he’s absent, but the weird thing is, no one ever called in sick for him. But yeah, he isn’t here.” His eyes darted back to his laptop. “Oh, and his brother’s not here, either.”

-

“How am I going to pay all these hospital bills?” Mrs. Way groaned, sifting through a stack of papers and sat uncomfortably in a wooden waiting room chair. A lit cigarette hung from her mouth despite the _No Smoking_ sign above her head. Her bleach blonde hair stuck in multiple directions, and she still wore her half-nurse’s scrub-half-sweatpants getup. 

“How could you worry about that right now?” Gerard argued. He sat across from her, his legs on his chair and his arms crossed. “Isn’t your son’s life a little more important?”

“Sure it is,” Mrs. Way countered. “The doctors said he was going to pull through unscatched, though, so I think I’m allowed to worry about the thousands upon thousands of dollars this will cost me. Plus your father’s funeral costs that I haven’t paid off yet.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and looked off. “I have to go to work soon.” He felt his mother’s eyes on him.

“You’re going to work today?”

Gerard shrugged. “Yeah. No point in sitting around here all day.”

Mrs. Way returned to her papers. “Visit Mikey’s room before you go, then. You remember where it is, right? Just down the hall.”

“Okay,” Gerard said. In one quick movement, he stood. “I’ll go right now.”

 

Heart monitors and other machines Gerard couldn’t name beeped and whirred in eerie unison. Tubes seemed to be connected to a dozen different things, and they all trailed up to the hospital bed that held Mikey Way. Gerard watched from the doorway at first, then took a deep breath and stepped in. 

Mikey lay unmoving, save for his back that occasionally shifted up and down to indicate breath. His mousy hair did not appear messy at all, and rather neat and uniform. Under the paper thin blankets of the hospital bed, Mikey faced the wall, so Gerard couldn’t determine whether he was awake or not. 

“Mikey?” Gerard called softly, unsure of how to go about this. Immediately, Mikey’s head shot up. He turned to his brother, then his eyes burned with recognition, and in another instant, his head was turned again. 

Gerard felt his fists bunch up at his sides. Seriously? Actually? This was how Mikey was going to act toward him? Shunning him, still?

“You have got to be kidding,” Gerard began shakily. Mikey didn’t move. “You put mom and I through all this, after what happened to dad, and you still can’t bother to talk to me? Mom couldn’t even tell me how you did it. And I had to miss school. That is the most selfish thing I can think of. You’re mad at me for not coming to dad’s funeral? Well, this is a hell of a lot more selfish than that! You are despicable.”

After a moment of the heart monitor beeping in silence, a strangled sound came from Mikey’s direction, like from a puppy whose tail had been stepped on. Mikey’s back heaved then, and he let out what was clearly a sob. 

Gerard rushed up to him, feeling guilty despite it all, and put a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. Mikey shoved it away. 

“I wanted to die!” Mikey cried out, sobs racking his entire body. “God, I wanted to die so fucking bad. I can’t believe I’m still alive. Fuck, Gerard, I really wanted to die.”

Tears welled up in Gerard’s eyes. “What? Why?”

Mikey dry heaved as he sat up and pushed the blankets to his legs. His hospital gown fit oddly and loose over his lanky body. “I didn’t want to wake up, I didn’t want to go to sleep. I didn’t want to talk to anybody at all, and still felt so alone. I’ve had this sinking feeling for so long, and when dad died, it got so much worse.” He buried his head in his hands. “I just wanted it to go away.”

Gerard eyed his brother curiously. “Why didn’t you talk to me, then? I could’ve helped you.”

“Because what you did was still so fucking selfish,” Mikey managed between sobs. “I know I’m one to talk, so shut the fuck up, but not going to dad’s funeral? I needed you there, and so did mom, and you just fucking…” he trailed off and broke down again. 

Gerard stepped back slightly. “I have to go to work now.”

Mikey waved him off. “Oh, run off, coward, like you always do and always will.”

“Fuck you!” Gerard barked before turning and speed-walking out of the room. 

-

The Starbucks was dead, as it mostly was every weekday after eight o’clock. Even Lindsey Ballato, the most determined person Gerard ever met, had given up on the idea of any more customers coming, and decided to count the money in the register while Gerard watched. 

“Stay out here, just in case,” Lindsey said once she finished counting the money and was standing up to return to the back. “I know it’s a pain, but I can’t pay you fully unless you complete the shift.”

Gerard had been zoning out for about ten minutes when he heard the familiar sound of the bells on the entrance door jingling. He sat up as best he could, though exhaustion from the day’s events did a good job of weighing him down. 

He plastered on a smile for whoever just walked in, prepared to make one last drink for the day. That smile faltered easily, though, when Gerard laid eyes upon Bert McCracken. 

“What the fuck?” Bert had done a good job of saying Gerard’s thoughts aloud. “Way? You work here?” He took a step closer to the counter. 

For whatever reason, Gerard laughed. “I do, yeah. I have the right mind to spit in your drink, too, you asshole.”

Bert returned the laughter, which took Gerard a bit off guard. “Fuck off.”

“Make me.”

Gerard learned from a young age to expect the unexpected. It was a good rule to live by, and Gerard knew that. However, nothing on hell or earth could’ve warned him that one day, he would be leaning over a Starbucks counter and kissing Bert McCracken.


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother, Gerard.” Frank folded his hands atop his desk and watched Gerard pace in circles around his office. “Bren‒er, Mr. Urie told me what happened. If you need anything at all, we’re all here for you.”

It wasn’t the same half-hearted “I’m sorry” Frank had given when he heard about Gerard’s father. Gerard wasn’t sure whether he was imagining it, or if Frank was genuinely portraying actual concern. In either case, it felt good. 

“It’s fine, really,” Gerard said. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt and continued to pace. “I’ve been fine. I’d rather talk about something else, actually. If that’s okay.”

“Oh?” Frank raised a brow. “Anything else, or something in particular?”

Gerard stopped in his tracks. “Something in particular. You can’t judge me on it.” He walked over to Frank’s desk and sat across from him. “Mr. Iero, you have to promise not to judge me for this.”

Frank waved a hand to move him along. “I promise, I promise. What is it?”

Gerard opened his mouth to speak, but got caught in thought upon looking at Frank. Frank’s focused expression would be the perfect subject of a sketch. His eyes creased just the right way, and his light pink lips formed a perfectly straight line. Gerard had the perfect pastels for this. What would the piece be titled, though? “Concentration”? God, no, it would have to be‒

“Hello? Gerard?”

Gerard snapped back into reality. “What? Oh, sorry. Just… thinking. Anyway, what I wanted to say was, something happened the other day. It was really weird. For a while, I thought I imagined it.”

Frank leaned forward, and _God_ , that expression again. “What happened, exactly?”

“Uh,” Gerard began. It felt like he was running out of breath. “I guess I was tired or confused or really sad or bored or something, because it was almost closing time at work, and Bert McCracken comes in‒”

“Oh, no,” Frank mumbled, interrupting him. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” Gerard ran a nervous hand through his hair, which might have grown longer since Frank last saw him. “It wasn’t like that at all. We… we kissed.”

Frank sat up in his chair. “You what?”

“God, I knew you’d judge me,” Gerard said, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know how to explain it‒”

“I’m not judging you, for God’s sake,” Frank said defensively. He held a hand up to calm Gerard. “He’s just so mean to you. Remember when he threw your sketchbook in the trash?”

“I know,” Gerard said. “I really don’t know why I did it. Or why I’d like to do it again.”

Frank didn’t know how to respond, and Gerard seemed to be out of words as well, so they sat in silence for a moment.

“Wait… Mr. Iero, am I gay? Does this whole thing make me gay?”

“Only you know the answer to that,” Frank supplied, though his attention wasn’t fully on Gerard. His mind had gone off into its own world, because recently, Frank had been wondering the same thing about himself. Was he gay? 

Jamia was such a pretty woman. On top of her attractiveness, she continued to pursue Frank again and again. Each time, Frank felt absolutely nothing and had the urge to reject her. Throughout high school and college, things had played out with various girls in a similar way way. 

If he were truly gay, his parents would never want to see him again. Accomplishing things early must’ve run in the Iero family, because while Frank went off to college at barely seventeen, Frank’s mother was hardly seventeen when Frank was born. Even in her youthful glory, Mrs. Iero had decided to take a more conservative, homophobic path of beliefs. Frank’s father wasn’t far behind her. 

If Frank were to take a man home, his parents, despite being in his life for twenty-three years, would undoubtedly cut off all contact. Back in Frank’s own youth, he was immediately shipped off to catholic school, where the topic of homosexuality was either dismissed as an abomination or ignored completely. 

Frank hadn’t realized how attached he was to his parents until he finally had freedom in college, and was _still_ afraid to experiment with men, despite the feelings he’d been fighting all his life. 

Why bother trying it, if he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere with it as long as he wanted to stay in his parents’ life, anyway?

“Mr. Iero?”

Frank flinched. Had he zoned out for long? “Yeah?”

”Do you think Bert would want to be with me?”

Gerard was unlike any other person Frank had met. His mind seemed to work in a way that few others’ did. Frank believed that if he took the time to apply himself, Gerard could truly be something great one day. The idea that _Bert_ , of all people, could end up one of Gerard’s closest confidants, was a painful one. 

_Of course, who wouldn’t?_ “I mean, I think you’d have to talk to him about that.”

Gerard sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I know you’re supposed to be professional and all, but I’d like your actual opinion on this. My brother still isn’t talking to me, and God knows I can’t talk to Bert about it. Could you give me something?” He looked at Frank, whose expression was blank. “C’mon, I really‒”

“You’re a special young man,” Frank said, though his voice was a bit muffled. His elbows rested on the surface of his desk, and his chin rested in his palms. A few of his fingers were directly in front of his mouth. It was almost as if he was trying to stop himself from saying anything at all. “You have this quality about you that’s not like everybody else. And that’s a good thing,” he added quickly, noticing Gerard’s unsure expression. 

“Okay, but do you think‒”

“Bert is a bully. Going off what you told me before, he always has been. No matter what he feels for you, he’s hurt you and made your life harder multiple times. Again, think the sketchbook. Just be careful.”

“I know,” Gerard murmured. “Why do I have feelings for him, though?”

“You might just‒”

The bell rang in its usual ear-piercing loudness, forcing Frank to stop talking. He watched Gerard stand abruptly and hoist his backpack onto his shoulder. 

“Bye,” Gerard said on his way to the door. Something fell from the inside of his jacket. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Gerard walked out, leaving behind whatever he’d dropped. Frank tried to call Gerard’s name, but to no avail. He walked around his desk and reached down to pick up the thing. He recognized that off-white binding the moment it was in his hands, because he’d seen it before.

Gerard’s sketchbook.

 

-  
“I really don’t know what happened any better than you do.”

Bert and Gerard sat in the forest behind the high school, because Gerard wasn’t working today, and that meant he could sit in a forest with Bert McCracken if he wanted to. Bert was sitting on a tree stump and smoking a cigarette. Gerard was familiar with the smell, thanks to his mother’s similar habit, but it didn’t make him hate it any less. 

Autumn air stung their noses and cheeks, and multicolored leaves scattered the ground. Despite seeing similar things thousands of times before, Gerard was fascinated by all the colors and smells. He loved painting autumn scenes.

“I just want to know where we go from here,” Gerard said after a while. He sat, hugging his jean-clad knees, on another tree stump. “If we do go anywhere with it.”

“Well, we want the same things, then,” Bert said. He took a drag of his cigarette. “That’s a good start. OxyContin?”

“What?”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a rattling, orange bottle. “OxyContin. It makes you feel high if you take enough. Here.” He grabbed Gerard’s hand and shook a few pills into it. “You’ll like it.”

After a moment of hesitation, Gerard popped the pills into his mouth, one by one. Dry. Bert laughed and clapped him on the back. 

“Anyway,” Gerard said. “Do you think this will go anywhere?”

“You tell me,” Bert said. He threw his cigarette to the leaf-scattered floor, stomped on it, and leaned into Gerard’s face. Gerard immediately blushed. “Do you like this?” With a careful thumb, he pushed a lock of Gerard’s hair behind Gerard’s ear and kissed him. 

Gerard pulled back to breathe after a full minute. Frank’s advice lingered in his mind, but it was easy to ignore with Bert right there. For a moment, he’d forgotten what Bert had asked him before they started kissing, but once he remembered, he was quick to answer. “I liked that a lot. I really did.”

“Me, too,” Bert breathed. “Good. Maybe this could actually go somewhere.”

-  
Jamia waltzed into Frank’s office like she owned the place. She usually never visited this early, and Frank was quite disappointed that she decided to. He prefered to spend these early mornings on his own, nursing a cup of coffee and reading one of Stephen King’s novels for the millionth time. 

“Hello, darling!” she exclaimed loudly. Everything about Jamia demanded attention. Her muted, pop-out-at-you outfits, the way she’d do or say whatever she wanted, and especially her glass-breaking voice. In an attempt to be polite, Frank set down the book he was reading and looked at her. 

“Hey, Jamia.”

“I have a proposition. An important one.” She stepped forward and took a seat on Frank’s desk, just barely missing his coffee. “We’ve gotten a bit more serious, now, haven’t we?”

These were the types of situations that were mostly Frank’s fault. Had he been better at saying “no,” things would never get this far, and he’d be able to live his life in peace. Frank wondered if a part of him knew what he was doing, though. Maybe that small part just wanted to have a girl to bring home to his parents. 

“I don’t know if you could call it that.”

These were the types of situations that were mostly Jamia’s fault. Why bother trying to deter her, if she hardly listened anyway?

“Well, anyway, I was thinking that we should just go ahead and sign one of those relationship forms, so we don’t get in trouble with the school or anything. Does that sound good to you?”

“I don’t know,” Frank replied honestly. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I thought we were only fooling around a bit and that’s all. I didn’t realize this was a serious relationship.”

“Well, catch up,” Jamia jested. She laughed at her own joke. Frank sat and said nothing as she did so. “In all seriousness, I’d like us to have something real.”

“I really don’t know.”

“I’ll give you time,” she said, hopping off his desk in one quick movement. “If time’s what you need, I’ll give it to you.”

“Um, okay,” Frank said. “I’ll think about it. I just don’t know if I’m ready for a serious relationship like that right now.”

“That’s what time is for,” Jamia said, making her way to the door. “I like you, Frank, and I want this to work. Don’t you?”

Frank paused. “...Yes?”

Jamia smiled, and as quickly as she arrived, she was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Gerard stepped into his house, took a dozen steps, then paused. 

“Mom?”

Mrs. Way was sitting on the living room couch. Her hair was tied into a half-hearted bun, her legs were crossed, and a steaming mug of tea rested in her hands. She took a long sip and eyed her son over the rim of the mug as he stepped inside the living room and tossed his backpack on the ground. 

Gerard eyed her tea. He’d never seen her drink tea before, so this must’ve been another one of the health kicks she went into so often. The week prior, Mrs. Way’s new thing was yoga. The week before that, it was meditation. Anything, Gerard had realized, besides giving up smoking. As if drinking tea, doing yoga, and meditating would rescue her deteriorating lungs.

“Why aren’t you working?” Gerard asked in a form of greeting. “Didn’t you go back last week?”

The sigh she gave seemed to deflate her. As she exhaled, she sunk further into the couch. “Mikey came home today,” she explained. “He’s sleeping upstairs. I really needed to be at work, but I don’t want to leave him alone.” 

Gerard’s face softened. “Oh. I’d stay with him or something, but I’ve got work. I’m sorry I can’t help out more.”

Gerard had only visited Mikey in the hospital once. It took that one visit for Gerard to realize that he wouldn’t care if Mikey dropped dead. It was his mother he was worried about. Even before Mikey’s suicide attempt, and way before his father’s death, Donna Way was a fragile, sensitive woman. She didn’t handle things lightly, and each minor inconvenience probably took a year off her life. For her, sure, he’d be there for Mikey, but never on his own will. Not anymore.

His mother waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’d rather you make as much money as you can. Get out of Belleville.” She hung her head and sighed. “God knows I wanted to.”

 

Upstairs, Mikey’s bedroom was closer to the stairs than Gerard’s. On Gerard’s way to get ready for work, passing Mikey was inevitable. 

His door was wide open. Upon first glance, he looked very much asleep. His blinds were drawn, and his body was sprawled across his unmade bed, unmoving. It reminded Gerard of a corpse. Then, as Gerard stood and watched, Mikey shifted slightly to reveal a lit-up computer screen. 

“Are you still planning on ignoring me?” Gerard called out before he could stop himself. Mikey stirred immediately, and his eyes met Gerard’s. For a moment, neither of them spoke, 

“No,” Mikey said at last. He shut his laptop and went to sit up, but couldn’t seem to find the strength. As he settled on his pillow again, he beckoned his brother over. Gerard walked up to Mikey’s bed and stared down at him. “I’m sorry about the way everything happened.” He noticed Gerard’s features scrunch up in distaste. “I’m serious. I was a jerk to you, and I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Gerard decided to say. “I appreciate you apologizing. You just‒” He froze. Mikey wore a simple white T-shirt, which exposed his pale arms. The only off thing about them were the long, scabbed-over red cuts on each one. Gerard couldn’t find the words to say, so he just pointed at them, mouth agape.

Mikey looked down to where Gerard was pointing. “Oh. Yeah. These. It was a really messy way to try and do it.” Gerard raised an eyebrow. “It would’ve been less messy to take pills or something,” Mikey elaborated, like the way he was describing it was the problem. “It wasn’t really a planned suicide or anything, though. I just woke up in the middle of the night and made the decision.”

“God, Mikey,” Gerard murmured, picking up Mikey’s arms and staring at them. “Jesus fuck. I’m so sorry. We could’ve gone about this whole thing in a much better way.”

“Don’t do that,” Mikey stopped him. “Whatever happened, happened. I’m fine now. I’m going to be fine.” He extended an arm and grabbed his laptop. As he placed it in his lap and pressed the power button, he looked up at Gerard. “Don’t you have work? We can talk later.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Gerard said. He wasn’t sure whether to be displeased with his brother, or be happy that they were finally on speaking terms. It was better, he supposed, to have a mess of a brother than no brother at all. 

On Gerard’s walk to work, the reality of his brother’s words began to hit him. Mikey, Gerard’s best friend and closest confidant for sixteen years, had woken up one night and decided to end his life. Gerard couldn’t stop picturing it, and he had a very clear picture. Only moonlight reflecting off whatever Mikey had chosen to cut himself with. The infamous moonlight coming through the biggest window in Mikey’s bedroom, on which he and Gerard had colored on the windowsill when they were kids. His eyes, streaked with tears, eyeing the closed door of Gerard’s bedroom, but never going in. A long, deep breath that Mrs. Way and Gerard couldn’t hear. A raised hand. And then blood. So much blood. Gerard was _right there_ , in the next room over. He could’ve helped. He should’ve known. When Gerard snapped out of thought, he found that he was bundling his hands into fists. _He should’ve known._ In his own house, his own brother had made that conscious decision. It was maddening. 

-

“Hey, Way!”

Gerard immediately turned at Bert McCracken’s voice. Bert was nearly running through the half-empty hallway. There was a moment of no sound except for Bert’s shoes on the linoleum, until Gerard remembered that he hadn’t responded.

“Bert! What’s up?” When Bert reached Gerard, he immediately grabbed his arm. Gerard looked left and right before returning the sentiment. He could just imagine the stares and whispers he’d get if people realized he was in a relationship with Bert McCracken.

“God, I missed you,” Bert murmured, using his finger to trace lines over Gerard’s arm. He led him to an empty locker and stood while staring into Gerard’s eyes. “Are you down to skip? I could use some alone time with you.”

Gerard pulled away and frowned. “I’m sorry, I can’t right now. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Bert’s furrowed his brow. Doing so accentuated the preexisting lines on his face, and Gerard tried not to notice. “Where?”

Gerard looked down at his shoes. He bit his lip before speaking. “Guidance counselor.”

“Guidance counselor?” Bert scoffed. “What for?”

“Uh.” Gerard cleared his throat. “They make me go. Because of my dad. What happened and all.”

Mentioning his dad with Bert right there reminded Gerard of when Bert had said his dad deserved to die. Bert must’ve been thinking the same thing, because he grabbed Gerard’s hand and squeezed it.

“Oh, okay.” He looked off and continued to hold Gerard’s hand. Finally, in a tiny, unconfident voice, he said, “I’m sorry about what I said to you before. Really.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Gerard mumbled, pulling away and starting for Frank’s office. 

Bert pulled him back and gazed into his eyes. “I’m serious. I like you. None of what I said before is true. You know that, right?”

Gerard’s expression softened. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He glanced around at the then empty hallway and hesitated before leaning over and giving Bert a quick peck on the lips. “By the way, do you have any OxyContin?”

 

-

Frank jumped at the sound of his office door opening. He dropped the Stephen King novel in his hands and sat up in his desk chair from a slouched posture. With tired eyes, he watched Gerard Way walk in.

“Hey,” Gerard said, closing the door behind him. A faint smile was on his face, and he showcased an overall happy glow. It was odd in contrast to the depressed, unmotivated demeanor that Gerard usually had.

“Hello,” Frank said, folding his hands atop his desk. Gerard took the seat across from him, still displaying a small smile. He took off his backpack and set it on the floor next to him. Frank titled his head. “What happened? Did you win a million dollars or something? For God’s sake, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”

Gerard looked off and allowed his smile to become a grin. His cheeks flushed and he looked back at Frank. “No. Better, I think.”

Frank looked surprised. “What’s better than a million dollars, for God’s sake?”

As his face grew increasingly redder, Gerard looked down. “Things with Bert are really good. I mean, like, really good.” He was quiet for a second. “Oh, and I’m talking to my brother again. Things are just going really good for me.”

Frank sat back in his chair. “Bert? You’re still seeing Bert?”

Gerard, perhaps blinded by his own happiness, allowed Frank’s unusual attitude to fly over his head. “Yeah, I am. He’s gotten a lot nicer. I think he just didn’t know how to express his feelings before.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Frank said, and followed it with a smile. But the smile seemed odd. It was as though someone was using puppet strings to pull the corners of his mouth up. Gerard, even while mostly in his own world, noticed. In a second, the poor excuse for a smile melted off his face and Frank stood abruptly. “I just remembered. I’m busy this period. You have to get out.” 

Gerard couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “What?”

Frank’s voice and face became more stern. “You have to leave now. I’m sorry. I’m busy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gerard stood, backpack in hand, and gave Frank an odd look. “Mr. Iero, are you okay? If anything’s‒”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Frank barked. “I’m just busy, okay? For God’s sake, you’re nosy.”

Gerard’s grin fully faded. “Jesus. Okay.” Without another word, he turned and left.

“See you tomorrow!” Frank called after him. Once his office door was closed, he collapsed back into his office chair and put his head in his hands. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Why would he lash out at Gerard, of all people?

He looked back up at the door, and his eyes wandered to the bookshelf adjacent to the doorway. One book wasn’t shelved properly. It sat on top of the other books. It was cream-colored, thin, wide, and not Frank’s. Frank groaned when he saw it. Gerard’s sketchbook. He’d meant to give it back. He hadn’t opened it or anything, because it wasn’t his business, but he was sick of keeping it in his office.

Was Gerard mad at him now? Frank’s shoulders tensed. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if Gerard was mad. Knowing Gerard had been such a privilege. Frank had been alive for twenty-three years, and he hadn’t met anyone else with such a uniquely intelligent mind. 

Frank couldn’t understand why he’d had that outburst. Maybe he was mad that Gerard hadn’t taken his advice about Bert? He was only trying to protect him. There was absolutely no way Bert had good intentions. Frank hadn’t met the guy, but he could only assume the worst. Who would constantly hurt and harass someone they _liked_? And for years?

Maybe Bert’s existence was throwing everything off balance. Frank knew it wasn’t his business, but Bert was a truly horrible example on Gerard. Maybe getting him out of the picture would be the key. Frank would be good in that arena. As guidance counselor, he had a lot of influence. Frank’s shoulders untensed. He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.

Maybe he needed to get Bert expelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Twitter for updating you all on my Frerards now... it’s @StellasPicShow in case you were interested


	7. Chapter 7

Frank stared at the watch on his desk. It was plated with silver and topped off with a golden strap. The two hands of the clock were on two random numbers, as they hadn’t been set to the correct time yet. Frank didn’t want to set them. He didn’t want the watch. 

On some occasion that he didn’t even remember, Frank had told Jamia his birthday. October thirty-first. Halloween. 

Two days before Halloween, Jamia appeared at the door of Frank’s office, a small, carefully wrapped box in hand. Before seeing what was inside, Frank had rejected the gift, because God, he didn’t need more guilt associated with Jamia. Also, he didn’t need such a blatant reminder that he was going to be another year older. He hated the thought of turning twenty-four. It was almost as though his life was more than halfway over. Jamia was persistent, though, and watched Frank unwrap and open the box to reveal a very expensive watch. Then, without waiting for a reaction, she turned and walked out. 

It had been an hour since then, and still, Frank stared at the watch with increasing guilt. He did not see himself going anywhere with her romantically, ever. She could be the last woman on the planet, and Frank probably still wouldn’t pursue her. It wasn’t anything personal, he liked to think; she just wasn’t his type. 

In one swift movement, Frank stood from his desk and scooped up the watch and its box. He hoped Jamia had kept the receipt, and if not, he hoped she liked to wear silver-plated, gold-strapped, men’s watches. 

-  
“You’re late. For, what, the second time?”

Gerard stood in the doorway of Jamia Nestor’s classroom. He felt much too exposed in that doorway. It was one of the few places in the entire classroom that was in an angle where everyone could see it. He eyed Jamia, who stood directly in front of him so that he couldn’t move past her. She was glaring. Gerard wondered if she could tell that he had spent the last ten minutes popping OxyContin. “I’m sorry, “ Gerard said. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. “I just‒”

“Don’t tell me,” Jamia said. She put her hands on her hips. “This is about your dead dad again. You’re still trying to use him to get out of school? That’s not okay, Gerard. That isn’t how the real world works.”

Gerard took a step backward. For a moment, he wondered whether he heard her correctly. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Jamia rolled her eyes. She moved to the side and motioned for Gerard to come inside. “Just get to your seat, Gerard.”

“No,” Gerard said. He began to shake his head. “You can’t just say something like that.” For a moment, he thought of ignoring the terrible feeling manifesting inside his stomach, and just going to his seat, but then his gut seemed to twist, and it only got worse. Gerard knew his father may have died in one of the most dishonorable ways possible, but he was still Gerard’s _father_ , despite it all, and there was still a father-sized void in Gerard’s life that hurt every time someone poked at it. 

“Oh, grow up,” Jamia said with a scoff. Gerard dared to eye everyone at their desks, and most people seemed to be watching, wide-eyed. He wondered whose side they were on. Jamia’s voice softened to a mumble. “Dead dad, get over it.”

“I’m going to the office,” Gerard said. His voice shook slightly. “Something is wrong with you.”

“GO TO YOUR SEAT!” she shouted. Gerard jumped back. He put a hand to his heart and watched Jamia step closer to him. Her brows were furrowed, and she looked something of a monster. “Who taught you to talk back to a teacher? You know, if I were _your_ father, I’d be glad if I died! Your father is probably‒”

Jamia’s eyes had shifted somewhere above Gerard’s head, and she froze. Bits of red creeped up to her cheeks as she put a bracelet clad hand to her mouth. Gerard raised an eyebrow and turned, only to be face-to-face with Frank Iero. 

Frank’s expression matched that of most people’s in the room: wide-eyed and mouth agape. He stepped into the classroom hesitantly. Gerard eyed him up and down, and noticed an expensive-looking watch in Frank’s hand. He wanted to ask about it, but it didn’t seem in good taste at the moment. Meanwhile, Jamia hadn’t moved. “Miss nestor,” Frank began. “What’s going on?”

Jamia shook her head and laughed nervously. “Nothing. Nothing at all. You see, Gerard here has this habit of being late, and—”

“So you insult his dead parent? Is that your idea of running a classroom?”

Jamia eyed the rest of her students before turning back to Frank. Her face was a shade of red Gerard didn’t think was attainable for a human. “No, I—”

“Gerard,” Frank said, craning his neck to get a glimpse at Gerard, who still stood in the doorway, newly teary-eyed. “Let’s go back to my office.” He regraded Jamia again. “I hope you realize this is a serious situation.” He walked over to her desk and dropped the watch he’d been holding. “I can’t accept your birthday gifts, either.”

Laughter erupted throughout the classroom. It ended abruptly, like everyone was trying to contain themselves, but the fact that their English teacher had bought the guidance counselor an expensive watch seemed to be too much to bear. Jamia looked to be on the brink of tears.

-  
Frank opened the door to his office and let Gerard go ahead of him. He stepped in–hesitantly, because he wasn’t sure how to begin the conversation.

He walked over to his desk and sat down. Gerard, who had been quiet for the entire walk downstairs, sat across from him. He was still teary-eyed, but trying to pretend like he wasn’t by avoiding eye contact. Frank’s expression could only soften as he looked at him.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you back there,” Frank began. “I just—”

Gerard interrupted him by leaning over and wrapping his arms around Frank’s shoulders. He let out a large sniffle, then his shoulders heaved, and then he was crying. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for doing that. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up.”

Frank blinked. Without much haste, he returned Gerard’s hug. For a reason he didn’t know, he couldn’t breathe properly. “It’s only my job,” Frank said. Then, quieter, “You deserve so much better.”

Gerard’s cries only became louder. Frank didn’t want to be the first to pull away, because Gerard seemed to truly need the comfort, so the two stayed as they were for a few moments, with Gerard sniffling, and Frank still unable to breathe. 

When Gerard pulled away, his eyes were bloodshot. “Thank you,” he said again. “Was that even allowed, what Miss Nestor did? Was it allowed at all?”

“No,” Frank answered without skipping a beat. “Actually, I think it’s the most frowned upon thing I’ve ever witnessed a teacher do. This isn't going to just slip.”

“I’m not surprised she’s the one who broke that standard for you,” Gerard said, then looked off. “She’s…” he hesitated, “crazy. She’s been saying those things to me since I met her.”

Frank sat up in his chair. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “She’s been mentioning my dad since the beginning.” He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a sudden rush of pain in his head. He tried biting the insides of his cheeks to control his facial expression, but it contorted into a bunched up mess regardless. His hands balled up into fists and the tips of his fingernails dug into his palms. God, he needed pills.

“Gerard, are you okay?” Gerard looked over to Frank, whose eyes were brightened with concern. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Gerard put a hand up in reassurance. “Really, I’m okay. I’ve just got this headache.” His fingers began to tap the sides of his chair. God, he needed pills. “We can talk some other time, right?”

“Yeah,” Frank said softly. “Feel better. You’ll probably be called in for the Miss Nestor issue, too. Just a heads up.” He frowned as Gerard stood, wobbled a bit, then sped out the door.

As Frank eyed the doorway absentmindedly, his eyes wandered slightly leftward to his bookshelf. His gaze happened to catch a familiar off-white book. He buried his head in his hands and groaned. He’d forgotten to give Gerard his sketchbook again. 

 

-  
The prescription bottle rattled in Gerard’s hand as he handed it to Bert. Bert popped open the cap, emptied a few pills into his palm, then popped them into his mouth.

“You doing anything for Halloween?” Bert asked. They were both sitting on the school bathroom floor. Well, Bert was sitting. Gerard was too disgusted by the stains and wet toilet paper that littered the tiled floor to sit. “I hope not. I’ve got plans for us.”

“What kind of plans?” Gerard asked, inspecting his nails. He wore a long, black overcoat and kept tugging on its sleeves. “Something good?” He leaned forward and squeezed Bert’s shoulder. “Something I’d particularly enjoy?”

Bert laughed. “We can make _those_ plans any time. It’s a party. It’s gonna be big.” He looked up at Gerard. “We can’t act… gay, though, you know? At least not in front of people. We’d only be looking out for ourselves.”

“That’s fine,” Gerard said, and it truly was fine. He’d kept this secret from his mother and Mikey. What difference did it make if he continued to keep it from the rest of the world? “Let’s do it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there aren’t italics where there should be! I’m uploading this on Wattpad as well as ao3 and recently I haven’t bothered to code for italics as Wattpad doesn’t require that :/

“I don’t feel well.”

Bert swung to take a look at Gerard. They were stood on someone’s front lawn, just outside a suburban McMansion that was blaring rap music from the inside and had teenagers spilling in and out the front door. 

Gerard’s hair was cut. Instead of reaching his shoulders, the dyed black locks hardly touched his neck. In place of a Halloween costume, he sported his father’s old Ray Bans and a worn jean jacket. He knew he must’ve looked good, because while Bert didn’t say anything when Gerard hopped into the passenger seat of his car, he wouldn’t stop stealing glances at him for the whole drive to the party. 

“OxyContin, baby?” Bert had never called him baby. Throughout the duration of their relationship so far, pet names seemed far from Bert’s vocabulary. Even while a sickly feeling was manifesting at the pit of Gerard’s stomach, he couldn’t help but smile. Bert must’ve been feeling particularity possessive tonight.

Gerard’s hands itched for a prescription bottle. “God, yeah. You know me so well.” Bert grinned and dug into the pocket of his sweatshirt, then dropped a number of oblong pills in Gerard’s outstretched hand. 

As they walked further along the lawn, Bert said, “I want you to meet my friends. They’d like you.” Gerard hummed in agreement. “Oh, yeah, but,” Bert added, “I haven’t told them about us, so don’t mention it. They’d never let me hear the end of it.”

 

.  
People shouted Bert’s name when he and Gerard stepped through the door. Before Gerard could blink twice, a red Solo cup was in his hand and he was being dragged into a circle of teenagers chattering excitedly. 

“What’s this?” Gerard whispered to Bert when he thought no one was paying attention to them. He motioned to the cup in his hand.

“Beer,” Bert whispered back. “It’ll do you good.” Before Gerard could say anything else, Bert turned to say something to a girl on the other side of him.

With no one else to talk to, Gerard eyed everyone in the circle. He recognized most of them, as he’d been in the same school district for his whole life. Most people seemed to be seniors, but some looked young enough to be freshmen. It was hard to see clearly, with the Ray Bans darkening his vision, but he kept them on anyway, because what if he looked bad without them? 

The first person he properly laid eyes upon was a blonde-haired girl with a glittering tiara atop her head. A pink tutu was set around her waist, and a neon pink bikini bottom was the only other thing that covered her lower half. When Gerard looked to her, she was looking directly back at him. When she caught his eye, she winked and began to twirl a strand of her hair with her finger. Gerard looked away.

Someone nudged his shoulder, and he turned to see Bert with a girl at his side. “Hey,” Bert was saying. “I want you to meet my friend Alyssa.”

“Hi,” Gerard said, then smiled and gave a tiny wave. Alyssa’s hair was jet black, like his, and a headband with red devil horns was perched on her head. Her eyes were big and brown, and it seemed as though she squinted every time she saw something new. After squinting at Gerard, she gave him a crooked smile. 

“Hey, Gerard,” she said. “You’re in my English class, right?”

Gerard shrugged as he took a sip of his beer. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not really in there often.”

Alyssa laughed. “Well, yeah, we’re in the same class. What happened the other day was crazy. Miss Nestor got fired, right?”

Gerard nodded. Mr. Iero had gone to the principal immediately, along with a dozen other students who’d felt “uncomfortable” over the incident, and the very next day, a substitute was in Jamia’s place. Mr. Urie was quick to assure Gerard that Miss Nestor wouldn’t be returning. Gerard never bothered to tell his mother, so no further action was taken.

Alyssa looked off and sighed. “Good. Anyway, afterward, every girl was talking about how they wish Mr. Iero would come and save them like that. God, I don’t blame ‘em.”

Gerard almost choked on his beer. “What?”

Alyssa’s eyebrows raised. A fine line appeared on her forehead. It made her look a lot older. “You don’t know? How haven’t you noticed?”

To disguise his confusion, he took another sip of his drink. This time, he emptied his cup. “What don’t I know?”

“Mr. Iero is so hot. C’mon, even though you’re a dude, you have to have noticed. Like, every girl in the school is in love with him. I mean, I’m not, but all my friends are. I just think he’s attractive.”

Gerard, after spending so much time incorporating Mr. Iero’s face into drawings, knew exactly how attractive Mr. Iero was. God, it’d sound odd, though, if he admitted that aloud. “Huh,” Gerard said. “I never really noticed.”

Before Alyssa could continue, Gerard grabbed Bert’s arm. “Hey,” he said at a volume only Bert could hear. He held up his empty cup. “I need something stronger.”

-  
Gerard must’ve been a lightweight, because after his third, fourth, or fifth drink, he wasn’t himself. He stumbled around like a zombie, and it didn’t help that Bert kept leaving to talk to other people.

When Gerard finally got Bert alone, Bert didn’t seem to be intoxicated at all. The only indication that he’d been drinking came in the form of the smell of alcohol on his breath. 

They were in the very back of the house, right beside a bathroom door. From there, the music that had once been blaring was only muffled. After glancing in all directions twice, Bert opened the bathroom door, grabbed Gerard’s hand, and pulled him inside.

Bert’s hands collided with Gerard’s shoulders in a move to pin him against the bathroom wall. Gerard hardly moved, like a rag doll. Bert leaned inward and put his lips to Gerard’s ear. “I want to pin you to this wall and fuck you right here, pretty boy.” He shoved a hand right through Gerard’s skinny jeans. “You look so good tonight. Did you see everyone looking at you? I bet you did, you sly bastard.”

Gerard attempted to put a hand to his head, but he missed completely. “No, Bert,” he managed. “No.” He found a way to pull Bert’s hand from his pants.

Bert began to nibble Gerard’s ear and work his way to the base of Gerard’s neck. “C’mon,” Bert said between kisses. “We’ve done this before. I know how much you love it. How does it feel knowing everyone wants to fuck you tonight? And I’m the only one who gets to‒”

“Not tonight, though,” Gerard barely got out. He held his arms in front of him to keep Bert away. “The room is spinning. I can’t see.”

Bert took a step back. He crossed his arms across his chest. A defeated expression dominated his face. “You’re being a prude right now, Gerard.” 

“No, I’m not!” He wasn’t sure whether his voice was coming out in a shout or a whisper. “I can’t see straight. That’s not my fault.”

Bert gave a defeated sigh and reopened the bathroom door. He shoved Gerard out before him. “Handle your alcohol better, then,” he mumbled. “There’s a suggestion.”

“Okayyyy, baby,” Gerard began to slur, stumbling after Bert. “I want more vodkaaa, though. And Oxycontin.”

Bert opened his mouth to speak, but paused before any words came out. He thought for a moment. A grin steadily spread across his face. “Let’s get you some, then.”

They stepped forward a few more feet when someone in a dog mask came running in their direction. A few people followed him, running just as fast, and Bert soon noticed Alyssa among them. He grabbed her arm. Meanwhile, Gerard just barely had Bert’s shoulder. 

“What’s going on?” Bert asked her. Her eyes moved around the area frantically, like Bert was making her risk her life. 

“We’re going out the back door. The cops are coming,” she said in haste, like she was trying to get the words out as quickly as she could. “Someone heard them coming down the street. We have to go.”

He went to follow Alyssa, but Gerard’s grasp on his shoulder slipped off. He turned to him. “Gerard, do you hear that? We have to fuck off, like, right now.”

 

Gerard hardly moved. “Bert, IIIIIII told youuu I can’t seeee straight. If I move, I think I’ll fall.”

“God,” Bert hissed. He turned to Alyssa. “Can you help him? I don’t think I can.”

Unlike Bert, genuine concern illustrated her features. Even in Gerard’s drunken haze, he was pretty sure he noticed that. She made an attempt to grab Gerard’s arm, but he only laughed loudly and fell at Alyssa’s feet. “I can’t!” she exclaimed. “What do we do?”

The sound of police sirens became audible from inside the house. Bert’s eyes widened. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do. We have to go.”

“Bert?!” Gerard said from the floor. “Youu can’t just…” He couldn’t bring himself to continue his sentence, because Bert and Alyssa had already run out the back door. 

-  
Frank was driving, though he wasn’t sure where he was going. It was his birthday, and he felt pathetic. He knew he should’ve asked a few friends to go out for drinks or something, but he’d never bothered. So, tonight, in an odd form of celebration, Frank drove the streets of Belleville without much thought. 

Music blasted from his stereo. He was sure nobody’d care, anyway. After all, it was Halloween, and children were awake all hours of the night collecting candy. Frank was being just as obnoxious, only in a different way. 

He’d been driving for nearly two hours. He felt an amount of pathetic that he didn’t know was humanly possible. Twenty-four. What an age. Frank graduated high school early, then college, and what had all those abilities amounted to? He always wanted to be a guidance counselor. It was always either that or an English professor. But Belleville High presented no challenges or difficulty. The only truly interesting and challenging thing that’d happened to him so far was Gerard. Perhaps being an English professor would’ve been more sensible.

As he turned onto another street, he felt truly miserable. A sudden urge to go back home and drink himself to sleep presented itself. Frank wasn’t opposed.

He continued along the road with the intention of turning around once he got to the end. It was oddly empty, he couldn’t help but notice. Big suburban McMansions lined the block; Heaven for any kid on Halloween. Why weren’t any kids trick or treating? Frank eyed the clock on the dashboard of his car. It read midnight. Oh. Maybe that was why. He reached for the radio dial and turned his music down. 

He looked over at the sidewalks again, and couldn’t help but notice a lone person walking along. Or stumbling, rather. Great, a drunk loose on the streets. Eyes off the road, Frank leaned over his steering wheel to get a better look. He paused. He was so surprised with what he saw, he couldn’t help but mutter the name aloud. 

“Gerard?”

Frank immediately drove to where Gerard was and pulled over. He rolled down the driver’s side window. “Gerard?” he called out. Gerard took a break from stumbling and managed a glance over at Frank. His eyes widened. 

“Mr. Iero?”

.  
“You are such an idiot, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if a cop saw you or something? Do you have any idea?”

“You sound like my mother,” Gerard mumbled. He followed the comment with a giggle. Now safely inside the warmth and darkness of Frank’s car, he rested his head against the passenger side window. Occasionally he stole a glance at Frank, because he had to, because for the first time, all of his tattoos were visible. The ones on his neck, his hands, and perhaps his arms, but he was wearing a jacket, concealing his arms, so maybe Gerard would never know. 

“Speaking of, I’m bringing you home right now. I don’t know what your plans were, but they’re canceled. I’m sorry, but I’m not letting a promising young man get arrested and ruin his entire record. It’s just not happening.”

“Who pissed in your coffee?” Gerard giggled again. This time, he had to hold his sides, he was laughing so hard. He wasn’t as intoxicated as he’d once been, but “sober” definitely wasn’t a word to use to describe him.

Figuring he needed to express his horrible mood to someone, he decided he could tell the truth to a mostly drunk Gerard. “I’m twenty-four today,” he said. “I’m stuck at a dead-end job, and it really isn’t worth my while. I graduated school early, because I was so capable. I should be getting paid a lot more right now.”

“Happy birthday!” Gerard exclaimed. He leaned over to Frank, who was driving, and wrapped his arms around him. Frank didn’t fight it. He only pulled away when Gerard started to giggle in his ear. After a while of being quiet, Gerard said, “Twenty-four is suuuper young. You know that, right? So many opportunities are open for you, Mr. Iero. You have time. I believe in you.”

Frank felt himself smile in the dark. “Thanks, Gerard.”

“You’re welcome,” Gerard said. “Oh, and you can’t bring me home.”

Frank nearly stopped the car. “Why on earth…?!”

“My mom,” Gerard explained. “After my dad and all, if she found out I was drinking, she’d disown me. It’s better if I don’t go home yet. I never get in trouble for that.”

“For God’s sake!” Frank exclaimed. “What do we do now, then? Do I bring you back to my place?”

“It seems that way,” Gerard said. Yet again, he giggled. “Sleepover! Yeah, motherfucker!”

Frank didn’t say anything. 

After driving a few more miles, he allowed himself a glance at Gerard. “Hey, where’s Bert?”

“We were together at the beginning of the night,” Gerard said. His voice hitched before he continued. “First, he got mad because I was too drunk to have sex with him. Then he ditched me. The cops were coming, and I was way too drunk.”

Frank slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Gerard jumped back in fear. “You don’t deserve that at all!” Frank shouted. It took him a moment to calm down. “God, I’m so sorry. Bert’s an asshole. I’m sorry, Gerard.”

Gerard didn’t say anything. 

Frank began to regret being so straightforward. It probably seemed weird to Gerard, that Frank was so passionate about disliking Bert. He turned to apologize. “Look, I‒”

Gerard leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Frank’s immediate reaction was to recoil backward, but Gerard pulled him back in and continued to kiss him. Frank was barely able to pull his car to the side of the road before returning Gerard’s kisses. They only stopped when Gerard pulled back to breathe. 

Frank was physically breathing, but it felt like he couldn’t. His heart pounded in his chest. It was almost like he’d just ran a marathon. Gerard leaned forward to continue kissing him. 

“Stop. You’re drunk, Gerard.”

“Hardly,” Gerard said. “And besides, it doesn’t matter. You know why?”

“...Why?”

“Because I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time.”


	9. Chapter 9

On the first of November, Gerard awoke with a pounding headache. The pain only seemed to intensify when he realized he wasn't in his own bed.

Instead, he was sprawled out on someone's sofa. He was in the same outfit as the night before, jean jacket included. As he became increasingly conscious, his eyes scanned his surroundings frantically, searching for any clue as to where he was. 

Bert's name was the first to cross his mind, but as events from the previous night started to flood back, he realized that wasn't possible, that he couldn't be in Bert's house. Way back at the party, Bert had left him.

The sound of sizzling cut off Gerard's thoughts quite joltingly. He sat up. A few feet away was the backside of someone who wore gray sweatpants and held a strong resemblance to.... Mr. Iero? They were bent over a stove. The scent of bacon filled the air. Gerard blinked. 

"Good morning," Frank said with his back still turned. A frying pan was in his hand, hovered over the stove. "Sleep well?"

Gerard made a move to go and approach him, but he stopped in his tracks. Memories of him and Mr. Iero kissing passionately in the front seat of his car had invaded his brain. Suddenly, he felt sicker than he had when he'd woken up. If that was possible.

"Mr. Iero?" Gerard began slowly. "Last night, did we—?"

"Yeah, we did." Frank set the frying pan aside and turned to look at Gerard. There were bags under his eyes. "I don't know where to begin with apologizing to you. That wasn't right of me, and I'm so sorry. If you don't want to be around me anymore, I understand. We can stop our sessions at school. I'll tell Mr. Urie that you're better. Or that you need counseling that's more professional. Really, just say the—"

"It was my fault," Gerard said. He slowly made his way into the kitchen and nearer to Frank. "Why are you beating yourself up? I came on to you. That's all on me." He motioned to himself. " _I'm_ sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Frank said, waving him off, "Okay. But I'm your superior. I'm an adult who you should be able to trust. I should be protecting you and keeping you safe. I-I-I—"

"Shhh," Gerard hushed as he inched nearer to Frank. His sock clad feet plodded along the kitchen's linoleum floor. "No matter what way you look at the situation, I started it." He suddenly squinted and grabbed for his head. "Do you have any Advil?"

"Yeah," Frank said. He turned a dial on the stove and walked past Gerard and out of the kitchen.

"I started it because I wanted it," Gerard continued as he followed Frank through the hallway of his apartment. "I don't think I ever really knew I wanted it, but I did. So thank you, actually, because you gave me what I wanted."

Frank ducked into the bathroom and began rummaging through the medicine cabinet. "I genuinely don't know how to respond," he said. "I mean, I get where you're coming from, but..." He grabbed a bottle from the cabinet and handed it to Gerard. The rattling sound it made Gerard wish he was holding OxyContin. His eye twitched as he popped open the bottle and took a few pills. "This is so impossibly wrong, I can't even begin to read into my own feelings."

Trying to ignore his craving, Gerard tapped his thigh rhythmically. "You can feel however you want about me. I don't really care." He followed Frank out of the bathroom and back toward the kitchen. "But I'm not some stupid, impressionable little baby who's allowing himself to be groomed. I'm seventeen. I know who I am, and I know what I'm doing. In fact, I pride myself on my self-awareness, and I'm a little insulted that you're overlooking it right now."

Frank stepped into the kitchen and went to turn another dial on the stove. "You are smart," he mumbled. "I never meant you weren't. It's more about me being worried that I'm not reading the situation correctly."

"Well, it's pretty simple. Do you want to see where this could go or not?"

Frank reached past Gerard to open the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. "I'm your guidance counselor, Gerard."

Gerard began tapping his thigh more aggressively. "And I'm hungover, in your kitchen, watching you make breakfast. I hate to be the one to inform you, but we've already crossed quite a few boundaries."

Putting a heavily tattooed hand to his head, Frank sighed. "God, I am a terrible person. For God's sake, I truly am terrible. I let this all get so far."

Gerard lifted his arm and subtly began to pinch his side, wondering whether it would have a similar effect to OxyContin. "We're past that now. Mr. Iero, do you want this?"

Frank cracked an egg into a frying pan. He exhaled heavily. "God, don't call me that now. I don't deserve to be a guidance counselor. God. God's sake. Jesus Christ."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" Frank hissed, holding the pan over the stove. "We have our own lives, Gerard. We can't just stop everything for each other."

"Yeah, but... Hey, you were jealous, weren't you?"

"Come again?"

Gerard allowed his mouth to morph into a grin. "That's why you kicked me out of your office the other day, right? It's 'cause I was talking about Bert. I mean, I figured you were upset about me not taking your advice, but given recent events, I think you were just jealous. Were you jealous, Mr. Ier... er, Frank?"

"You're making me feel disgusting," Frank said.

"So, you were!"

Frank's cheeks turned red. "Go sit on the couch. I'll bring you breakf— mmfph!"

Gerard had leaned over and put his lips on Frank's. Frank immediately clamped a hand over Gerard's ass and kissed him back. It was enough to bring a small moan from Gerard, and they continued kissing until they needed air.

"Did you like that?" Gerard asked immediately afterward. "Do you want to do it again?"

"Excuse me," was all Frank said. "I'll be right back." He pushed past Gerard and turned into the hallway. Gerard only got a small glimpse of him as he went, but it was enough to notice the large erection in his gray sweatpants.

Gerard picked up the previously abandoned frying pan and held it over the stove.

 

Frank returned hardly five minutes later. His dark hair was a scraggly mess atop his head, and most notably, he was wearing a different pair of sweatpants. These were dark blue, unlike the gray ones he'd been wearing five minutes earlier.

Gerard had set two plates and glasses on a table in a cramped corner of the kitchen. Wordlessly, he watched Frank over the rim of his glass as he took a long sip of orange juice. 

"You're really making yourself at home, huh?" Frank asked as he slid in the chair across from Gerard.

"Yeah." Gerard picked at his breakfast with a fork. The urge to take a painkiller was starting to make him sweat, and he severely hoped Frank wouldn't notice. He was trying his best to stay focused. "What were you doing?"

Frank coughed and took a sip of the orange juice Gerard had poured for him. "Making a phone call," he said when he put the glass down. "I was supposed to make it last night and I forgot."

"Oh, okay," Gerard said, putting scrambled eggs on his fork. God, that was the worst lie he'd ever heard. The lie was decent in itself, but the delivery killed it. The way Frank paused between sentences was nothing short of a dead giveaway.

There was a moment of silence. Frank picked up his glass and began to take another long sip of orange juice.

"I could have helped you with your little problem just now, you know."

Frank slammed his glass on the table. Gerard flinched. "Okay! I think it's time for you to go home now." He finished off the drink and stood abruptly. He threw his dishes in the sink and returned to Gerard. "Get up, let's go."

"But I'm comfortable," Gerard said. Frank gave him a long look, and then Gerard stood up. 

Frank grabbed his car keys from a hook in the kitchen and began tossing them in his hand. "Before we go, are you forgetting anything?"

"No," Gerard said. It was almost as though sweat was waterfalling down his face, and he wondered how Frank didn't notice. He was tapping his thigh faster than ever, and he felt as though he might die. Lightheaded, as he followed Frank to the front door, he had no choice but to ask, "Do you have any painkillers?"

Without missing a beat, Frank replied, "No, I don't think so, but I wouldn't recommend taking those things, anyway. You get addicted to that stuff."

-

"Where the hell were you?!"

"Like you really care, Mikey," Gerard sighed, not even glancing at his brother as he made his way to his bedroom. 

"Mom was worried sick before she went off to work. You're really inconsiderate, aren't you?" Mikey left his own room and went to follow Gerard. "After all that's happened, how could you be like this?"

Gerard opened the door of his bedroom and turned to look at his brother. "Please don't do this now, Mikes! I've got the biggest headache."

Mikey paused. "And you're sweating. Are you okay? A headache... Maybe you've..." Gerard's face fell as Mikey put the pieces together... mostly. "You've been drinking, haven't you? Oh, my god, Gerard. Oh, my god. Mom would kill you! How could you do that to her?"

"Well, she's being stupid. Firstly, I was at a party. What else do you do? Second, unlike dad, I don't have a car to wreck. Third, I came home safe. And alive! No harm, no foul." 

"You despicable, careless—"

Gerard slammed the door in his brother's  face. "I SAID I HAD A HEADACHE, MIKEY!"

There was silence, but Gerard wasn't convinced that Mikey was gone. No footsteps had sounded since he closed the door. Suddenly, there was a thud against it, like someone had put their back to it.

"You left your phone here again," Mikey said through the door. 

Gerard, still in yesterday's clothes, flopped on his unmade bed. "I know," he called back. He sat up and looked around. "Where is it?"

"I have it."

Gerard stood up and stormed to the door. He swung it open and looked up at Mikey, who had a cell phone dangling in his fingertips. Gerard always found it a bit unfair that while he was the older sibling, he was still much shorter than his younger brother.

"Give it back." He snatched it from Mikey's hand. 

"Someone was calling you all last night and all morning. I think their name in the phone was—"

"Bert?" Gerard could think of a million things he'd rather do than talk to Bert ever again. Being abandoned while drunk and high was one of the shittiest things that could ever happen to a person, in Gerard's opinion. But he still craved the feelings that painkillers brought, and Bert seemed to be his only access to that. His relationship with Bert, to put it simply, couldn't end. 

"Yeah. Do you suddenly have friends now?"

"I guess so," Gerard said, then shut the door in Mikey's face again.

 

-

"You called?"

"God, baby, I've been trying to get a hold of you forever. I'm so fucking sorry about last night. I've felt awful ever since. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Gerard frowned and held the phone away from his ear. A large part of him recoiled at Bert's voice, but an even larger part of him really, really wanted OxyContin. 

"I got out of there and stayed the night at a friend's house. I just... how could you leave me like that?" His voice cracked at the last part, and he wanted to slap himself. He didn't want to cry because of Bert. He'd done that too many times, back when they were younger. He flopped down on his bed once again and dug his face in a pillow. 

"I'm sorry!" Bert whined, as much as a five foot nine boy with a voice deeper than the ocean could whine. "You know, I was drunk, and we'd just had that fight, and I wasn't thinking clearly, okay? I care about you. So much. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Do you want to go for lunch? My treat. I'm sorry."

The last thing Gerard wanted was lunch. The light breakfast he'd had already sat like a rock in his stomach, and the thought of consuming anything else other than pills made him sick. The fact that he was still hungover didn't help, either. But if he wanted pills, he'd have to rely on Bert. 

"Okay," Gerard said. "Bring the pills."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late update I was depressed lol

On Monday morning, Frank awoke to not his alarm clock, but the doorbell. 

Merely sitting up proved to serve as a struggle, as it often did while Frank had been awake for just minutes, the sun hadn’t yet risen, and the only source of light came from neatly spaced lampposts that lined the street outside. 

His eyes dared to find the clock, and when they did, he groaned. Not a minute past five a.m. 

He rolled out of bed, forced himself to stand, then trudged from his bedroom to his apartment’s main entrance. 

He didn’t expect to see her when he opened the door.

It took a moment, because she’d cut her hair a considerable amount, but even with her black locks newly in a May-I-Speak-to-the-Manager, pixie-cut type-do, she was unmistakably Jamia Nestor.

Frank would’ve liked to slam the door in her face, but he was far too stunned to do much more than blink. He blinked an awful lot as he stood in the doorway, staring at her. 

“How did you find where I live?” Frank asked first. His mind bubbled over with questions, but that happened to be the first out of his mouth. He found it rather difficult to appear intimidating while he stood there in pajamas, but he narrowed his eyes and puffed his chest in an attempt anyhow. 

“Brendon gave it to me,” Jamia said in a monotone. She brought a hand to her face and began studying her manicured nails. “I asked for it because I was looking to give you back the watch, honey, because you see, I tried to return it to the store, but I’d thrown out the receipt and everything, and they just wouldn’t take it.” Frank opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a finger to shush him. “I wasn’t going to keep the watch, so I figured it best belonged with the person I’d originally bought it for.”

“Sell it on eBay,” Frank interjected. “I don’t want it, I promise you. I don’t want anything to do with you, after everything I’ve seen you say to a student who lost his father. You’re cruel, Jamia. Bottom line. I don’t want any part in it.”

“Oh! But you will have something to do with me, honey, if you’d like to keep your record clean.” An ear-to-ear smile spread across her made-up face. “I initially tried to come here on your birthday. Made it to the parking lot before I got cold feet.”

Frank’s heart fell to his stomach, with his expression falling not long after. His chest deflated. As he broke into a cold sweat, he looked up at Jamia and cleared his throat. “Wh-what stopped you?”

Jamia only smiled and admired her nails again. Watched out of the corner of her eye as Frank’s medium frame began to visibly shake. Took her time before responding again.

“Speaking of students, I saw something I didn’t like. I don’t remember it being legal to make out with our students, Frankie. Especially when they’re—he was, wasn’t he?—intoxicated.”

Frank had to hold a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting. His voice came muffled from behind his hand. “You— I— You’re— I can—”

“Don’t care for any explanations, if I’m honest. I don’t want any trouble, Frankie. Just sex. Maybe an intimate relationship. You can give that to me, yes?”

Frank’s face reddened. Each moment seemed the opposite of lucid, like he was in a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.

“You foul, despicable—”

“Woah! Better hold off on that talk if you’d like me to keep what I saw to myself.” She beamed and pretended like she didn’t notice Frank’s wide-eyed disbelief. “I’ll be back, alright? Or I’ll call you. You need to get inside. Don’t want you to be late for work.”

She left without another word.

-

Sarah Orzechowski stepped into Brendon’s office and immediately hit her foot on a ceramic figurine. Brendon’s head shot up from the sound. Barely stifling a yelp of pain, she opened her mouth to speak.

She was a young woman, no older than thirty, and dressed so elegantly on a daily basis, it was almost as though she wasn’t a high school secretary, and rather something far more important. And was it makeup, or did her face genuinely have no lines or blemishes? Brendon surely didn’t know. Either way, whether it was her bright blue eyes or perfectly proportioned face, she was beautiful. 

“Uh, sir, the new English teacher’s in the lobby. He doesn’t know where his classroom is.”

Brendon stood from his cluttered desk. “New English teacher?” he muttered. “I don’t remember hiring anybody.”

“I think the board of education hired him,” Sarah said with uncertainty as to whether Brendon was asking her the question or just mumbling to himself. “They probably wanted to be safe since you hired Jamia and that didn’t go very well.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She paused. “Not that your judgement is bad.” Brendon stared, empty-expressioned. She thought again. “Not that they’d think—let’s just go.”

They walked together to the main office, where an awkward-looking, brown vest-clad man waited. His short brown hair curled around his ears and his vest sat over a red and white plaid shirt. Brendon wondered whether he was a fan of The Beatles.

“You’re the new English teacher?” Brendon asked.

“Yes,” Vest Man responded. He fumbled with his hands as though doing so was the only thing keeping him calm. “Ryan Ross.”

“Perfect. Love the name! Alliteration! That’s an English thing, right? Quick question, though: would you ever belittle one of your students and use his dead father as a mocking point?” 

Sarah stared at him. 

Ryan Ross gulped. “No?” Then he flushed, worried he’d given the wrong answer. The redness in his cheeks subsided when Brendon smiled.

“Alright. I think you’ll make a good fit here. Let me show you to your classroom.”

-  
“Hey, I haven’t seen you since Halloween!”

Gerard stumbled the rest of his way into the Starbucks. He pulled his green apron over his head and joined Lindsey behind the counter. “Yeah. Well, I’m back now.” He offered her a smile. 

She frowned. “You alright? You seem… off today.”

Gerard shrugged. As he leaned over the counter to glance at the entrance, he said, “It’s been an ‘off’ few weeks. I haven’t felt myself.” He stepped back and saw Lindsey’s concerned expression. He paused. “I’m alright, though. You know I manage.”

“Ah,” Lindsey said. “Alright. How’s your boyfriend?”

“Bert?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is there any other boyfriend I could be talking about?”

Gerard laughed. A bit too loudly. “God, no! Ha! Yeah, Bert’s…Bert’s fine.”

“Alright,” Lindsey said again. She grabbed a pack of plastic straws and walked around the counter to put them out. “Don’t think there’s anything you can’t tell me,” she said over her shoulder. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”


End file.
